Out With a Bang
by Sith Happens
Summary: One New Year's Eve with the Saints. OneShot as a gift for everyone! Some cursing, of course


The crowd out in the street was having a blast. Time Square was packed with people waiting for midnight, for the ball to drop. Viktor Cartev looked down from his penthouse window and snickered to himself. All those bastards down there, ready to ring in the New Year. He knew that several of his underlings would be out in the crowd, pushing the newest shipments of meth and horse to the kids down there looking to get high. All while he got to stay warm in his penthouse apartment and watch the view of the New Year's ball dropping from his huge picture window.

Suddenly, he heard a noise outside his door. There was a sound of furniture scraping across the floor in the hall and a shout from one of his guards. Cartev ran to the door, hearing the tell-tale spits of silencers on the other side before two loud thuds. He stilled a moment as he heard more movement. Turning from the door, he rushed to his bedside table and pulled his handgun out of the drawer. He made sure it was loaded before taking a few silent steps back in the direction of the door. Before he got too close, it was kicked in, two figures clad in jeans and black sweaters stepping inside.

"Housekeeping," the dark haired one said, hard voice tinged with laughter.

Their guns were trained on Cartev and he could do nothing but raise his hands in surrender. "Gentlemen, please. I'm sure we can negotiate something."

"Put yer gun down," the lighter-haired man said menacingly.

Cartev nodded and slowly bent down to put his gun on the floor before straightening up. The darker one re-gripped his gun, tension dancing through his arm as he extended it further. "Now kick it over 'ere."

Cartev complied, the gun sliding across the carpet to bounce against the lighter one's boot. He raised his arm a little as well. "Now get on yer knees."

"Fuck you," Cartev spat, the fear finally exploding within him.

The light one came up and cracked him across the face with the butt of his gun, sending him to the floor. Cartev tried fighting back, but it was useless as the other man joined in, forcing him to stay on his knees. Each had a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down as they came around to his back.

"D'ye know why we're here," he heard the dark one ask.

Cartev shook his head frantically. "Please, I have money…"

"Fuck yer money," the lighter one spat, pressing the barrel of his gun against the back of Cartev's head. "T'was yer fuckin' drugs that killed two little boys last week."

"They an' countless others overdosin' or bein' killed 'cause ye want ta make money," the dark one added hotly, his barrel joining the other at Cartev's skull.

"Who are you," Cartev asked, stunned and scared almost to the point of pissing himself.

"Told ye," the dark one replied. "Housekeeping."

"Here ta clean up the mess," the light one chimed in.

There was a pause, and the room was filled with the shouts from the street below as the ball grew closer and closer to its destination. From behind him, Cartev heard the two men speaking in unison.

"And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, m'Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended from Thy hand that our feet shall swiftly carry out They command.

"Ten," the crowd shouted from below.

"And we shall flow a river…'

"Nine!"

"Forth to Thee…"

"Eight!"

"And teeming with souls…"

"Seven!"

"Shall it ever be…"

"Six! Five!"

"In nomini Patris…"

"Four!"

"Et Filii…"

"Three!"

"Et Spiritus Sancti."

"Two! ONE!"

---

The spit of the brothers' silencers was completely drowned out by the crowd's cheer from so many stories below. It was midnight, New Year's Day. Another year, another evil man dead. They turned the body over onto its back and placed the pennies over the now-empty eye sockets. Once they finished, they headed downstairs together in silence.

The crowd was still sing _Auld Lang Syne_ when they hit the sidewalk. Confetti was still floating in the air falling upon the crowd. This year, the people in charge of the Times Square New Year's Celebration had decided to let people submit New Year wishes to be written on the small pieces of plastic. One landed right on Murphy's cheek and one on Connor's shoulder. They picked them off and read them out loud.

"I want ta get a big-screen TV fer m'birthday or anniversary this year," Connor shook his head. "Phillip Duncan, age 35, Newport News, Virginia."

Murphy looked at his a moment longer, rubbing his lower lip with the edge of his thumb before reading it. "I wish this year, the news isn't so scary because the world will be a safer place fer everyone. Andrea Sanders, age 10, Sawmill, Wisconsin."

They glanced at each other a moment, two silent figures among the roaring crowd.

"Happy New Year, Conn," Murphy finally said, voice soft.

"Aye, Happy New Year, Murph," Connor replied just as quiet, draping an arm across his brother's shoulders. With a cheerier voice, he pulled his brother down the street. "C'mon. Let's go have a pint."

**A/N: Happy New Year everyone!**

**Hugs and love,**

**Sithy**


End file.
